


Not the time

by awakeanddreaming



Series: Moments [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2008, Angst, Broken Promises, Engagement Rings, F/M, Heartbreak, Scotland, Surgery, what’s love got to do with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-21 11:51:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14914856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awakeanddreaming/pseuds/awakeanddreaming
Summary: She was over eighteen, so all the consent forms were hers to sign. The decision to do this was entirely on her. It seemed new—foreign—to be making these kinds of decisions for herself. So much of her life had simply been laid before her. She’d spent so much time being told what she should do, what she had to do to succeed. When to eat, what to eat, how much to eat, when to train, how to train, when to sleep, how much to sleep and on and on. Her days were scheduled and regimented and she really had no choice in them. Just showed up. Even Kitchener and Canton weren’t really choices. Do you want to win? Yes. Move here. It wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t a decision. It just was. Simple math: a+b=c.  This choice was all on her and it was more than a little terrifying. It meant everything.*** Scott lets Tessa go through surgery alone and then almost does something very stupid and desperate to say sorry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I don't know how I got here. This feels wrong, but here I am anyways. I'm a horrible person.
> 
> This is a scene taken from a longer work titled In the End, but I am not sure I love where it is going. So I am taking some scenes that I like and editing/expanding them and plan on doing a series of one offs.
> 
> **this work is taking its own shape, changed very much from the original and will likely be at least 4/5 chapters. Please read times are changing (part 2 of this series) for the lead up to this moment. 
> 
> *edit to say I made a few very minor edits (somethings that I missed in my haste to post and a small change to the very end)

She was over eighteen, so all the consent forms were hers to sign. The decision to do this was entirely on her. It seemed new—foreign—to be making these kinds of decisions for herself. So much of her life had simply been laid before her. She’d spent so much time being told what she should do, what she had to do to succeed. When to eat, what to eat, how much to eat, when to train, how to train, when to sleep, how much to sleep and on and on. Her days were scheduled and regimented and she really had no choice in them. Just showed up. Even Kitchener and Canton weren’t really choices. _Do you want to win?_ Yes. _Move here._ It wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t a decision. It just was. Simple math: a+b=c.  This choice was all on her and it was more than a little terrifying. It meant everything.

 Her mom sat beside her, holding her free hand encouragingly while she signed the forms. She wished she could have done this two years ago—when it would have been up to her parents, when they would be reading through the paperwork and helping her weigh the risks versus benefits. A time when ultimately the decision to cut into her legs would have been someone else's. But they were leaving this to her, offering up no more than support and bits of encouragement. Praying that this was the right decision, hoping beyond hope that this would end her pain that she’d be able to skate again. The days leading up to this she had cried herself to sleep barely able to convince herself that this wasn’t the end of everything. It was too much. This wasn’t just her future in the balance. 

Honestly, the months of fighting through pain, of hiding the extent of it from everyone—even Scott—had been easier than this decision. Tight lipped and stony faced she was able to skate through the pain and numbness radiating through her lower legs. After a while, once the pain hit its peak and gave way to numbness it was almost easy. Her body had been trained so well, each stroke of the blade so deeply imbedded into her muscle memory that she didn’t need to have feeling in her legs to complete the steps. She just willed her legs to push forward and they did.

Maybe she’d just keep skating in pain. Except she knew she couldn’t. It was reckless, she knew. Now that Scott knew, he wouldn’t let her anyways. Another thing that wasn’t really her choice. No point in skating alone.

The doctor reminded her that this was an elective surgery, but that it really was her best chance at continuing to skate. They had to relieve the pressure in her legs somehow. And that was the choice really, the chance to keep skating, to keep Scott or to give it all up and have a normal life. She couldn’t not skate. That was the crux of the matter. Everything up to this point would be worthless, would be for nothing without skating. Without Scott. So she signed all the required lines. She tried hard to pay attention to all the potential risks, but really all she could process was that she wished Scott were here right now. She thought about how much she needed him. How she wished he could have made this decision with her. But he wasn’t here, and they both knew the decision was all hers. He would never force her into anything. 

She remembered the pain in his eyes when he realized how much she’d been hurting. He cried, for her and for himself, and asked, “How did I not know? How could you not tell me?” He knew her shins bothered her, but she told him it was just shin splints. He’d ask how they were and she’d smile through gritted teeth and say, “fine”.

Scott didn’t deal well with her being hurt. He was so protective of her it bordered on crushing. He knew her better than anyone in the world, better than she knew herself probably and she likewise knew him. That’s how she knew that he probably blamed himself for not seeing the signs sooner. For not being able to read the pain on her face. And she knew for sure that he blamed her for not telling him. And really it was her fault. If she had just told him then he would have made her go to the doctor sooner and maybe they could have gotten ahead of this before it got to this point. Before surgery was the only option. So yes, this was her fault. But not being here for her was on him. That was his choice. He will tell her later that it was one of the greatest mistakes of his life.

She was sitting in a hospital bed, the florescent lights above her flickering noisily threatening to bring on a migraine. The sheet was scratchy against the pale flesh of her bare legs. Nothing was right. This didn’t feel right, not without him here. She couldn't help but feel a little bit heartbroken. Actually, a lot heartbroken. Her heart was like hardened glass and she could feel as the cracks begin to form, slowly spreading until they intersect one another, until there are a million tiny cracks interlacing each other. She knew one more blow and she would shatter.  Because it wasn’t just her skating partner and her best friend who isn’t here, but the boy she loved with her whole cracked and fragile heart. She realized that they never really defined what they were. She hadn’t thought that mattered until this exact moment. What had she been to him? She loved him, but she couldn't remember him ever saying it back. Did he ever say it back? He wasn’t here. He was mad and he was scared, but if he loved her back he’d be here. He wasn’t. She was here about to have a scalpel slice through her flesh just for the chance to keep skating with the boy who didn’t love her back. 

The muscles in her chest tensed and her heart and lungs were falling out of sync. It felt like one was outpacing the other, but she couldn’t tell which. Was her heart too fast and her breathing too slow? Or had her heart rate dropped, while her panic-stricken lungs gasped for air? Pain was creeping into her chest like a slow burning fire searching for dry tinder so it could to engulf her soul.

Her mom was holding her hand but didn’t sense the impending anxiety attack. Not like Scott would have. He’d have felt her tighten and immediately known. He would have held her in his arms, enveloping her in an embrace and synced her breathing and heartrate with his own. But he wasn’t here. And her mom didn’t realize until she was already in the full throws of anxiety. Hyperventilating to try to catch her lungs up with her quickening heart, tears washing any remaining make up off her lightly freckled cheeks.

Her mom pulled her into a hug. It was comforting and slightly calming. But it wasn’t the same. Her arms weren’t as big or as strong. Her heartbeat wasn’t as steady and familiar. She still struggled to sync her body with itself. It wasn’t the same but still she curled into her mother’s arms like the small child she wished she still was and wept. 

“It will be okay,” she soothed, stroking her daughter’s hair. “And if you are this worried, it isn’t too late to change your mind.”

“No, mom, I want the surgery. I need the surgery.” Tessa croaked. Not looking up. “It’s not that.”

“He’ll come around,” her mother whispered into her hair planting a soft soothing kiss on her forehead.

 

And he did come around eventually. The separation wasn’t nearly as radio silent as it was made out to be later. But it isn’t the same. They talked on the phone a few times, but they didn’t know what the say to each other, they didn’t know how to talk about what this all means. So after the briefest pleasantries they both cradled their phones in silence doing nothing but listen to each other breath. He visited twice early on—with flowers—but both times she was resting so he left as quickly as he came, the only touch he offered was an awkward kiss to the temple on his second visit. As soon as his lips touched her skin he shied away, a look of apology in his eye, like he shouldn’t have touched her at all.

But seeing him not know how to talk to her, having him unable to touch her—a comfort she so desperately needed—broke her even more. Complete silence may have been easier.

The third time he visited was different. It was two weeks before she was set to go back to ease into training. Her mom lets him in and he looked like he was coming undone. He looked like he hadn’t slept well in weeks. He looked nervous—she never wanted him nervous around her—wringing his hands out in front of him. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t quite read. She couldn’t read him like she used to. That hurt the most. Losing just that bit of connection.

She was in her bed, ice on her shins and a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice in her lap, when her mom let him in.

“I’ll let you have some time.” Her mom said, bowing back out.

As soon as the door was shut, and before Tessa could really register what was happening he had crossed the distance between the doorway and the side of her bed, dropping to his knees next to her. She put her book down, and he took her hands in his. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him. Took stock of him. He looked older somehow, definitely more tired and maybe—if she trusted herself to read him just a bit—a little afraid.

“Tess,” he began, “I am so fucking sorry.”

“It’s o—”

He didn’t let her finish. “No, don’t say it’s okay. It is not. I screwed up, I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I was a fucking idiot. I am so sorry.”

She squeezed his hands in hers. “I know.”

“I love you,” it’s the first time he’d said it. “I love you so much. I can’t live without you. It was the biggest mistake of my life not being there for you. I know you probably hate me,” she wished she could hate him, “but I need you and I love you. And I hope that you still love me, because I can’t do life without you. Skating or no skating.”

And then he was fumbling for something in his pocket, hands shaking, desperation painted on his face. His hand was trembling as he held her left in his right. In his other hand he held a small, simple, gold band—he’d had it engraved but her eyes were to clouded to see what it said. She was trying hard to process, but instead felt like shutting down. She should hate him, god, she wished she could hate him.

“Tess, I am so sorry. I…I…if you still love me, please. I can’t be without you. I don’t want to lose you. Tessa Virtue, will—”

This wasn’t how this should happen. He shouldn’t have been falling apart in front of her, doing the only thing he could think of to make her stay with him—terrified of losing her. So, before he could finish what he started she kissed him, hard. All her hurt, heartbreak and fear pouring out of her onto his lips, deep and desperate. It was the only thing she could think of to make him stop before the last three words spilled out and couldn’t be taken back.

“I still love you.” She wished she didn’t. “But…but…you can’t ask that. Not like this.”

Pulling back, looking into his eyes, she couldn’t read him. If she could have she would see something between pain and relief. She stared into his eyes, maybe for too long. Trying to figure him out.

“You’ll never lose me,” she said finally, “just don’t ever leave me again.”

He didn’t say anything, simply brought his lips back to hers and kissed her with the same sense of desperation she had felt. Kissing like this might be the last time their lips met. Kicking the ice off her legs, she pulled him on top of her. Meeting the ferocity of his kiss while he eased himself over her on the bed. Finding the hem of his shirt she pushed her hands up his back and back down raking her nails over his bare flesh, while lifting her hips up meet his. She wanted him to get lost in her, willing him to forget why he came. Forget those last three unspoken words.

He wanted her to forget too as he pushed her t-shirt as high as he could without breaking their kiss. His hands found purchase on her breasts, squeezing gently at first, rubbing a thumb over her nipple. And then hard enough to leave marks as she arched her back pushing herself farther into him.

Both poured all their emotions into the only way they always knew how to communicate, with their bodies. All of the pain, the heartbreak, the desperation and longing of the last several weeks coming together as they pressed their bodies into one another. Breaking apart only to slowly, silently take of their clothes before joining together again.  They both knew not to speak, to let their touch do the talking. Slowing their pace, pulling as close together as possible, pressing into each other as if they were willing their bodies to become one—afraid to ever lose the other again. They reached a quiet climax, together as always, before collapsing into the bed. They left all the unspoken words float around them, not quite knowing what to do with them.

Both knew if he had finished his question there was nothing she would have been able to say other than _yes._ But this wasn’t the time. They weren't ready. She was nineteen and he was twenty-one.

So, he didn’t ask. She didn’t say yes. They didn’t ruin their professional careers. They didn’t define what they were to each other. But she kept the ring. Until the time was right.


	2. a time for subtlety (or not)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stopped, heart beating hazardously fast and hard in her chest. He could probably feel her pulse through their loosely gripped palms. Because he knew, she had told him what she wanted. But he hadn't been ready to figure his shit out. He needed to live his teenage years again and she didn't want to wait for him to grow up. And now he had a girlfriend, again, and she was still hurting over too many losses in a short period of time. So the next thing that came out of her mouth, though spoken softly, was with intention. A subtle fuck you. Her way of letting him know what he really lost. It was petty, and maybe immature. But she'd been hurting and he'd moved on so she said it anyways. Hoping it would offer a bit of catharsis.   
> “I liked the one you gave me. I always thought it was perfect. I used to believe that'd be the one, when the time was right.” She dropped his hand and skated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just supposed to be one chapter, and the first chapter really can stand alone but I have decided to add two bonus chapters about what happens with the ring after.
> 
> **this chapter is entirely new and not edited from the previous longer work.

 

She found the ring the day after, in the tangle of her bedsheets. Dropped and forgotten in the heat of passion and desperation. It was the first time she had gotten a good look at it. Simple, dainty and perfectly understated and engraved in tiny, slanted script was one single word: _together._ It was perfect for them. She’d never need a ring to say yes to him, so this was more than enough. That was the thing with the two of them they would never need grand gestures, undying professions of love, or public approval of their funny little relationship. Their relationship was complex and beyond definition but in the end all the ever needed was each other.

Turning the ring over in her hand, slipping it onto her finger—just to see what it would look like—the very real implications of what almost happened hit her. What the ring really meant. Her heart nearly beat out of her chest. What if she’d let him finish his question? What if she’d said yes? Where would that have left them? It was right to stop him, she knew that. Logically. But what if?

As it was they hardly knew how to talk to each other anymore after just over a month of limited communication. So actually being engaged as opposed to whatever undefinable thing they were would really have just complicated things further. They started therapy. It marked the first time they ever saw a marriage counselor—how fitting. But neither brought up what had almost been said that day. They never talked about what it meant or where it left them. The closest they ever came was when she brought the ring to him a few weeks later.

 She held it out to him without a word, her breath quickening, hand shaking almost imperceptibly. He didn’t seem inclined to take it. He simply shook his head, unable or unwilling to process all the still unchecked emotions that were tied to that small piece of jewellery.

So, she asked, voice barely more than a whisper, “Can I keep it?”

She wasn’t sure why she asked. What she expected or why she even wanted it. But she did. She needed the reminder of the what could have been.

He nodded, taking her hand and folding it closed over the ring. Then he steadied himself to say something.

“I got it for you, so yeah, keep it. Like a symbol or something, a promise maybe, that we are in this together. I promise I will always love you and I will never hurt you again.” He didn’t manage to keep the last part of his promise. He broke that several times in the years to follow.

She wore it sometimes, but never on the proper finger, always either on her middle finger or the ring finger of her right hand. He never said anything when she wore it, but he always noticed.  Most of the time it lived safely in the depths of her jewelry box, carefully wrapped in a scrap of fabric from an old costume.

She kept it even after things fell apart. When years of therapy weren't enough to fix what it was they were both too afraid to define. When he pushed and she pulled. When she pushed and he pulled. When it all became too much and there wasn't much of a them anymore. Except on ice in dance. Their bodies still fit together in ways that shouldn't have been possible. She sometimes put the ring on, even then, a hopeful reminder them both of the promises made--other times a little less hopeful and a little more spiteful.

She wore it quite a few times between Carmen and Sochi, a silent reminder of his promise and all the ways that he was breaking it. With their undefined relationship falling apart, he dealt with it his favourite way-- another girlfriend. Of course he still slept with her, because neither of them knew how to quit each other. But they were so far from the love struck teenagers they had once been. So she’d slip the ring on before he came over. A subtle fuck you, while he fucked her. It never stopped him from crawling into bed with her, I didn't stop her from letting him. But she felt a small sense of satisfaction watching the guilt creep over his face when he saw it.

 

It wasn’t until six years after he intended to propose that she brought it up again, and for the first time referred to it as what it was meant to be. She had just been approached to work on a jewellery collection with Hillberg and Berk and in true Tessa fashion had researched everything she could about jewellery. Not just design and process, but history as well. She was a veritable fountain of information on almost anything jewellery related.

“I always thought there’d be more tradition behind diamond engagement rings,” she started, out of the blue, “like some grand story as to why they are you know…the thing. But apparently it was really just a company trying to make more money. It’s kind of interesting the rhetoric and the psychology behind it. The company De Beers, it’s like one of the biggest and original names in the diamond game, well in the 1930’s there was actually a huge influx of diamonds. Too many. So, they started the campaign ‘A diamond is Forever’ in 1938.” She prattled on the information, not sure why she was sharing it with him.

Things had been tense between them since they got back from Sochi, especially in the last few months and when she was nervous she really didn’t know how to shut up. The words came quickly and steadily and her heart slowed its anxious pace slightly as she filled the void between them with words and facts.

“Hmm…Interesting.” He shrugged, as they skated around the near empty rink.

“Yeah, basically they are like the hallmark of jewellery. It is actually really interesting how the slogan stuck. Diamonds are really synonymous with engagement now, all because of a campaign a company started to get rid of an excess. Some of the old ads are kind of fun to look at, too. You know to see how it all started. Now we value them so much that we pay such an extravagant amount of money for a band with a stone, that isn’t worth anymore than a simple promise. It’s almost silly really our obsession with needing a diamond to somehow prove our love to someone else.”

They stroke around the perimeter of the rink slowly, her hand clasped in his, falling in sync easily—even with her prattling.

“So you wouldn’t want a diamond ring then? You don’t want to cave to the system, eh?” He posited.

“Well, I don’t know. I am still a girl, I like pretty sparkly things and I obviously appreciate good jewelry. So I don’t know…I don’t know what I’d want I guess.”

He hummed, as he pulled her along the ice, “I thought Tessa Virtue always knows what she wants.”

She stopped, heart beating hazardously fast and hard in her chest. He could probably feel her pulse through their loosely gripped palms. Because he knew, she had told him what she wanted. But he hadn't been ready to figure his shit out. He needed to live his teenage years again and she didn't want to wait for him to grow up. And now he had a girlfriend, again, and she was still hurting over too many losses in a short period of time. So the next thing that came out of her mouth, though spoken softly, was with intention. A subtle fuck you. Her way of letting him know what he really lost. It was petty, and maybe immature. But she'd been hurting and he'd moved on so she said it anyways. Hoping it would offer a bit of catharsis. 

“I liked the one you gave me. I always thought it was perfect. I used to believe that'd be the one, when the time was right.” She dropped his hand and skated away.


	3. Time to prove yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was an asshole when he pulled her passed the rest of the cast, passed the change rooms and down the darkened hallway leading to a utility room. He was an asshole when he pushed her against the chipping blue and white paint of the cinderblock wall and kissed her. Pushing her mouth open roughly with his tongue, tugging on her ponytail forcing her chin up to give himself better access. He kissed her like he needed the air from her lungs to breath. One hand tangled in her hair, the other holding her arm above her head against the wall. He didn’t stop until neither of them could breath and they parted red faced and panting—the red of her lipstick staining his face, her wrist bruised where he’d held it, possessively.  
> "I forgot how amazing this could be." He breathed into her ear. He had been so caught up in her, in his passion for her, that he forgot all about having a girlfriend at all. He was an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a liar. A lying liar. I meant for this to be the last chapter, but nope I have more story.
> 
> This chapter was meant to be a little bit of angst and mostly fluff. I wasn't going to go into the details. But I got caught up in the drama. So there will be at least one more chapter before we get to the nice fluffy end. 
> 
> Hopefully you all enjoy the ride.

They were in Scotland when she gave the ring back to him. More than six years after he’d first given it to her, and only a few months after she’d admitted that it was the only engagement ring she ever thought she wanted. He didn’t understand the implication at first, starring at the small loop of metal that she placed roughly in his palm. He was standing in the doorway to her room, begging her to let him in. His own room a few doors down and his girlfriend’s on the floor below—where he should really, probably be at this exact moment. The stone floor seemed to sway underneath him as he looked from her tear stained cheeks to the ring in his hand and back.

What the hell was happening? They were just under a week into the trip and everything had seemed to be going so well. As well as he could have expected, anyways. Until she missed dinner and he went to her room to find her. She opened the door, peeled the ring off her finger and handed it to him like that was all that needed to be done to explain. So he stood there, foot in the door, waiting. 

“I can’t keep doing this Scott. I can’t keep holding onto you.” He could see her building up her emotional walls, trying to steel herself against the onslaught of hurt she was about to unleash. “I don’t think I will ever not be in love with you, I don’t think I can get over you. But I’m trying…for me and for you. She’s really great Scott, she is. Better for you... And…and…even though it is killing me I want you to be happy. I want to be happy too. So, I can’t keep that. I can’t keep pretending and hoping that one day you’ll wake up and realize…I love you too much to keep being in your way. And I love myself too much to keep pining over you.”

He tried to put his hands on her shoulders, to reassure her somehow even though he didn't know what words to say, but she flinched away at his touch. She'd never not let him touch her. How was this happening? A month ago, one fucking month ago, she was all over him. Showing him what he was missing. When she grabbed his face at the end of Good Kisser pulling him into her and breathing fire into his mouth.

“You want this” she had whispered against his lips, her own lips barely moving to form the sounds while running her thumb along his cheek. He smiled against her mouth, because she was right, she was always right.

And then he said, “don’t be mean.” Half a joke, half the truth. Because she knew what she did to him, she knew he couldn’t resist her and she also knew he had a girlfriend. She knew full well she was playing with fire and someone was bound to get burned. So yes, she was being a little mean. But he was an asshole.

He was an asshole when he pulled her passed the rest of the cast, passed the change rooms and down the darkened hallway leading to a utility room. He was an asshole when he pushed her against the chipping blue and white paint of the cinderblock wall and kissed her. Parting her lips open roughly with his tongue, tugging on her ponytail forcing her chin up to give himself better access. He kissed her like he needed the air from her lungs to breathe. Maybe he did, he'd spent the better part of a year feeling like he was drowning. One hand tangled in her hair, the other holding her arm above her head against the wall he kissed her with unbridled passion. He didn’t stop until neither of them could breathe and they parted red faced and panting—the rouge of her lipstick stained his face, her wrist bruised where he’d held it, roughly, possessively.

"I forgot how amazing this could be." He huffed into her ear. He had been so caught up in her, in his passion for her, that he forgot all about having a girlfriend at all. He was an asshole.

He didn’t say anything after that. Because what should he have said _? I like my girlfriend, I really do. She is probably perfect for me, but I still want you all the fucking time. I want you so fucking much it hurts. I drink too much to try to forget how badly I still want you. I have been trying to pretend I am eighteen again, living like you haven’t been it for me since I was ten years old because I'm not ready to settle down._   _I'm still not ready to be the man you deserve._ _I am sorry I fucked up again, and again._ So of course, he said nothing at all. Because he was an asshole. If he wasn’t, he would have said all of that, and then some. Whispered how much he loved her, always had, all while trailing gentle kisses down her jaw and into the crease of her neck. If he wasn’t, he would have broken up with his girlfriend that very night. But as it stood he was an asshole. So instead he didn't say anything and then went out for one too many with the guys. Because he was afraid. Afraid that without skating he wasn't good enough for her. Afraid he would never be good enough for her. Afraid of forever.

If there were a rock bottom, that was it. He had tied a cinderblock to his own ankle and he was drowning, drowning in his own shame and despair. Not only was he pretending to be eighteen again, living the glory days of parties and no responsibility. But he was acting like his cocky, idiotic eighteen year old self. Sometimes, when people are afraid they do really stupid things. It was not an excuse he knows, he fucked up. But it was a reason. He was scared of forever with Tessa, but he was more afraid of losing her. He would never forgive himself for everything he’d done to hurt her, and every other girl he was ever with. This moment was the final nail in his own coffin and ever future mistake would bring him back to this. He would never forget how he felt the next morning. 

And now he was standing in her hotel room doorway in Scotland—like an asshole—while she threw all his unkept promises back at him. And he realized that the ring clutched in his hand meant that she had given up. She had given up on them—on him. He felt the crushing wave of loss lash over him, a riptide pulling him under. 

He had honestly been relieved all those years ago when she hadn’t let him propose, when she told him it wasn’t the time. Because he hadn’t been ready then. He had only been twenty-one and he’d been afraid of losing her. And really what did he know about love then? He hadn’t ready to be a husband, when it came down too it he hadn’t even been able to commit himself to her fully. Because he knew she was it for him and that terrified him. He couldn’t be done, he still had mistakes to make. This, unfortunately, was one of them. 

He’d stupidly reacted the similarly after Sochi. Sochi had brought them together and just as quickly torn them apart. They had been alone and vulnerable. Feeling abandoned by their coach and betrayed by the ISU, but it was okay because they were together. They were the closest to in love they’d been since before Vancouver. They kissed and it wasn’t angry or desperate, instead it was all softness and genuine love. But after everything, when they were lying naked in his bed—finally in a good place after two years of hurting each other—she told him that she was done being hurt. They were done now, done competition, so she was ready to be all in. Ready to fix the delicate relationship they had spent so long tearing down. That they had both destroyed. She reminded him of his promises, a promise he had reiterated before they skated when he told her that no matter what he loved her and no matter what they were together. She wanted to cash in on that promise. She was ready. He didn’t know if he was, though. That time after Sochi was going to be his time to live a little, to experience the things skating had taken from them. He told her he needed more time, more time before he could be the man she deserved, before he could commit to her. And he thought that was true, he wasn't good enough for her--not then.

“I’ve waited for almost six years, I’m done waiting Scott.” And that’s when he noticed, she was wearing it. She had been wearing it the entire Olympics, hopeful that it was finally going to be the right time. Now spinning the ring nervously around her middle finger, biting back tears, she didn't look hopeful anymore.

They got home and didn’t talk for four days. But he never thought they were done, just on pause. And she tried to stay true to her word on not waiting, dragging around some dipshit for photo ops, smiling her PR smile, pretending to move on. It was his fault, but it still hurt so he started dating too. It was just a pause he reminded himself. Until he realized he had half a chance at a real, some what healthy relationship—with someone else— and he watched her heartbreak and he wasn't sure what to do anymore. Didn’t know how he got to this point. He still thought somewhere in the recesses of his mind that she was his someday. But in the meantime he was learning how to be a semi-decent boyfriend. Until a month ago, and then Good Kisser happened. She wanted to see if she still had a chance, he knew her well enough to know that. And she did. of course she did. He'd wanted to kiss her again every damn day since. And it made him hate himself. She deserved better than him. But he still hoped, he never never thought they’d end up here. Losing her was always his biggest fear--not mascots as he claimed--but here he was. So afraid of losing her that he pushed her away. 

She was giving up and he was a fucking idiot.

“Tess,” he begged, “don’t do this. Please. Please keep it. It’s yours, it will always be yours. Please take it back.”

He tried to take her hand to put the ring on her finger. The right one. The one she never wore it on. The one that lead straight to her heart. She clenched her fists and held them firmly at her sides. He could see where her fingernails were digging into the flesh of her palm.

“I can’t keep it anymore. I won’t.”

“T, I’m sorry. I fucked up, okay. Just take it back. I will get this right eventually. I promise.”

She almost laughed at his desperation. A small scoff filled with hatred, anger and jealousy. He was pathetic, and the both knew it. It was like 2008 all over again. He was making promises he didn’t know if he could keep, all in an attempt not to lose her. He was an asshole. But he kept going anyways. She had already cracked him open, exposed the thin, weak flesh of his soul.

“I love you. I still love you, too. I can't ever be over you, either."

She stared at him, stony faced, with stormy green eyes dark and murky with anger and sadness. Like a storm churning up the bottom of the ocean.

“Fuck you.” And without warning she slammed the door. Literally in his face. He had to jump back to avoid being hit.

She had drawn her sword and stabbed at his weak underbelly. He lost her, his only constant, and it was all his own damn fault. That knowledge hurt more than anything. He felt like a wounded, bleeding animal, crouched in front of her door.

He pressed his forehead to the hard wood, trying to focus his eyes on the pattern of the grains beneath the dark stain. With his hand resting on the cold metal knob, he could almost feel her on the other side, doing the same.

“Please T. Let me in.” It was just louder than a whisper, and he kept repeating it. Like a mantra. Along with, “I love you. I love you so much it scares me.” Over and over and over until his throat was dry and the sound came out more like a croak.

Finally, right before he would give up for the night, “I love you, Tessa. And I’m sorry.”

Her voice, low and raspy from crying, barely audible carried through the door and straight into his heart. “You’re going to have to prove it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I made a few little edits to the chapter. Nothing major changed mostly grammatical issues. But I am a bit softer with Scott in the few changes.


	4. a time for friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the final bars of the song were ringing out and he opened his eyes, blinking back fresh tears, all he could see was pale green. Her eyes locked on to his and she allowed herself to be vulnerable and open to him, for the first time in days. He looked at her, and she at him and they were in their bubble. The small place they went where only the two of them existed. The friendly chatter around him, the sounds of the band moving around the small stage prepping for the next song, the distant clinking of glasses at the bar all began to fade. It was only them and he would have sworn he could hear her heart beating in time with his from across the room. He could see the glisten in her eyes as she bit back her own tears. With a hand covering her mouth to stifle a small sob, she nodded at him. Knowing. This song it had to be theirs. They would dance to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit this is more than I thought it'd be. This chapter was emotionally draining to write so I just had to stop. I'm not sure if the end gets it exactly where I wanted, but I couldn't keep going. The dialogue isn't my favourite, but I think it is a necessary open discussion. 
> 
> I watched What's Love Got to Do With It about a dozen times last night while writing the intro, and I cried more than I'd like to admit. So raw and emotional, it is actually heartbreaking to watch. It has also now become a favourite VM program. 
> 
> Also, hopefully I can stop being a liar and this is actually almost the end.

 

It was a cinematic moment, it really was. It wasn’t something he ever believed happened outside of a Rom Com. It feels like something they dreamt up, when they talk about it later. That moment when eyes meet from across a crowded bar, a sharp intake of breath, and a silent knowing. It didn’t seem real, but it happened. It was the first time they’d really looked at each other since she’d returned the ring to him.

 It happened during a hauntingly beautiful acoustic rendition of _What’s Love Got to Do With It_. He didn’t know if he’d ever heard, really heard, Tina Turner’s lyrics before. He was never listening. Not like this, with it slowed down--soft and raw--so he could focus on every gut wrenching word. Every emotional note ringing out and hitting him hard in the chest.

He breathed in deep and he could smell the cold of the rink. Closing his eyes, he could see her so clearly. His Tess. Her hair swept back, a dark dress billowing loosely around her hips. The unmistakable portrait of heartbreak painted on her face. He could feel her ache in his own chest, gripping on his heart—tighter with each beat. The pain palpable. He would wrap his arms around her, her head draping over his shoulder. He would pull her in by her waist while she skated away. He would push her and she would clamber back to him. He would lift her and she would resign herself to his arms, loose and limp. He could imagine every lift, every edge, the all too real emotion. An arabesque as she skated away, opening herself up to new beginnings, him following with his eyes. Him pushing her away, hurting her, and then drawing her back in with promises and I love yous. Unwilling to let her go. Her trying and failing to protect her fragile heart. _Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken._ It was too real, too close but he knew they had to skate to it.

When the final bars of the song were ringing out and he opened his eyes, blinking back fresh tears, all he could see was pale green. Her eyes locked on to his and she allowed herself to be vulnerable and open to him, for the first time in days. He looked at her, and she at him and they were in their bubble. The small place they went where only the two of them existed. The friendly chatter around him, the sounds of the band moving around the small stage prepping for the next song, the distant clinking of glasses at the bar all began to fade. It was only them and he would have sworn he could hear her heart beating in time with his from across the room. He could see the glisten in her eyes as she bit back her own tears. With a hand covering her mouth to stifle a small sob, she nodded at him. Knowing. This song it had to be theirs. They would dance to this. 

Her tears started falling in earnest, but still she held his eyes with hers. It was too much. He was drowning again. Drowning in the green sea of her gaze. A cold fire filled his lungs, sending chills through his entire body while it simultaneously burned him from the inside. He felt the crushing weight of the pain he had caused her and he couldn’t breathe. He needed fresh air.  Mercifully, she knew, and she let him go. Nodding to him and breaking eye contact. Looking down at her hands clasped in front of her on the table, he knew he was rearranging herself, training her face to be the perfect picture of grace and composure once more.

 He hardly noticed his girlfriend reach out a hand to him while he pushed out his chair. He barely registered the concern in her voice as she asked where he was going. Or how her gaze flitted nervously between him and Tessa. Not caring how it must have looked. The two of them, staring at each other with unmatched intensity, both with tear filled eyes. Because of that song. 

“Are you alright?” She asked.

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t connect the path for words to travel from his brain to his mouth just yet. Tess would know that, she would know not to say anything. To give him time to sort his emotions. She was the only one who would know, had always known.

His girlfriend calls after him, “What’s wrong?” He keeps going, silently. Heading towards the doors.

Tess did know, he saw her out of the corner of his eye as he left. Crossing the bar to tell his worried girlfriend to give him time. She’d find him when he was ready and bring him back. She'd still worry. Even more knowing that Tessa would be the one to find him, comfort him. But he couldn't bring himself to care about that. He needed to breathe. 

 

A half hour later, changed out of her black cocktail dress into leggings and a sweater he swore used to be his, Tessa found him sitting outside in the cold, damp Scottish night. The smell of salt from the sea lingered in the air and clung to the inside of his nostrils. The crispness in the air opened his lungs allowing him to breathe. He’d been watching the waning of the waves, training his breath to their steady beating against the shore. The ring, that he had kept in his pocket since she had returned it to him, held firmly between his fingers. He had been studying it, fiddling with it, running the soft pads of his fingers across the smooth, cool metal. Tracing the word he had so carefully chosen all those years ago. It seemed like an impossibly long time. Another lifetime, when they were young and still believed their love for each other mattered more than everything else.

He put it quickly back into his pants pocket as she approached, though not quick enough for her not to have seen it.

“Sorry.” She said as she folded herself gracefully on the rock beside him.

“No.” He said simply.

She corked her eyebrows at him, unsure how to take his statement.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. This is all on me.” He shrugged and couldn’t meet her eyes.

She silently took his hand in hers, rubbing soothing circles with her thumb along the inside of his wrist.

“I’m an asshole.” He looked at their hands, he couldn't look in her eyes, not yet. Not without feeling like he was drowning all over again.

She shook her head. “You’re not.”

“T, you know that’s not true. I’ve been an asshole, to you especially. And to Kait.”

She laughed a little under her breath. Nervous. “Yeah, you’ve had your moments. More than your fair share recently, if I’m being honest. But that doesn’t define you.” She paused, for emphasis, “Don’t let that define you. You’re more than a few bad decisions. You are still Scott. Somewhere in there is still _my_ Scott, my favourite person…the most genuine, compassionate and outgoing person I know. You always wear your heart on your sleeve, and I love that about you. But I think sometimes you let your emotions get the better of you. You let your fear, maybe some insecurity and anger overpower you, and that’s when you do dumb shit. But that doesn’t need to be who you are. Also, you aren't entirely to blame you know, for all for that. I pushed you. I wanted that to happen. And I feel horrible.”

She swallowed, her gaze following his to their clasped hands. He could tell by the forced steadiness in her voice and the carefully chosen words that this was something she’d been thinking about. Maybe even rehearsing the words in her head. She wasn’t absolving him, just reminding him that he was more than his mistakes. They both were.

“T—Tess,” he started, “I feel…I don’t know…I feel so lost.”

“I know.” She sighed.

“I feel like I’m…like I’m…”

“Drowning.” She finished for him.

He nodded. “I feel like I am floundering. Like I don’t know who I am, who I am supposed to be without you, without competition. I feel like you’re going so many places and I am going nowhere. I am adjusting poorly, and I’m afraid I’ve lost you.”

The wind had picked up slightly and a wave crashed against the rocky shore beneath them, lightly showering them with sea spray. Neither moved.

“I’ve spent the better part of this year trying to figure that out. You know. Trying to find out who Tessa is, and it’s been hard as hell. And I probably still love you and need you more than is necessarily normal, or healthy. But I think I still managed to define myself. Discover what I love and what I want out of life. And I love the person I found. I’m proud of what I’ve done. It was hard to get here, but I know who I am. I love fashion, I love representing brands. I really love doing photoshoots, and god I have loved working on that damn jewellery line. Having something I created, that is mine. Just me. Tessa without Scott. But that doesn’t mean I am not still your partner. I promised you six years ago that’d you’d never lose me and you won’t...even if that means something different to me now.” She doesn’t say it, but he knows she means now that she’s given him the ring, now that she has lost hope in him.

He finally brought himself to look into her eyes. They were watery, but she looked strong and determined. Somewhere between the true Tess, the one she rarely let anyone but him see, and the steely front she put up for the public. Masking her hurt and vulnerability from the world.

“I am so proud of you, for all that. You know that right? I’m so fucking proud of you all the time.” He could feel tears swelling in his eyes again. “I’m just scared, you know. I’m scared that I will never be good enough to love you. T, you are the most amazing woman I know—just getting to know you makes me burst with pride. But loving you hurts, because I know I am not enough.”

“You’re an idiot.” She didn’t  laugh, just looked straight through him, deadly serious and didn’t elaborate.

They sat in silence for a while, she leaned her head on his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head. They watched the reflection of the moon against the waves, their faces damp from tears and the sea. Their breathing syncing with each other and with the water. 

“This doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt me. You did and I am not going to be over it for a while. But I wanted you to know that I was wrong. A year ago. I was wrong to say I wouldn’t wait. To put a timeline on being ready. Because we weren’t ready for whatever this could be then. It wouldn’t have worked. We weren’t ready. We still aren’t.” The last part she said quieter, almost a whisper, “Maybe we’ll never be.”

He drew in a deep rattling breath, “I’d like to think that someday we’ll get there.”

“Maybe.” There was still a note of hurt and a loss of hope in her voice. He had a lot of work to do.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he drew her into his side. Telling her without words, that no matter what happened, no matter where they ended up it would be okay. They would be okay.

“Can we start by being friends? Just friends. I think we’re both hurting a lot right now and I know I could use a friend.”

“I would love nothing more than to be your friend.” And that was the truth.

They sat, cozied into each other, for a few more minutes before both standing without a word and heading back towards the castle. Stopping at the door, standing under the grand stone archway, he grabbed both her hands in his and forced her gaze to meet his. This would be where he would have made some grand desperate plea for her to love him. But he wouldn’t do that again. 

“Kiddo, can I promise you something? As a friend.” Because he knew that no matter what, even if it was all he ever got, he’d do anything to be her best friend for the rest of his life.

“Scott, I’m really done with promises you can’t keep.” There was an edge to her voice. He was pushing her, he knew it.

 “This is different, okay? I just want to promise you that where ever you end up in the world I will always be proud of you. And I will always be there to support you. Okay? Like seriously. Even if you are at a fashion shoot on the other side of the globe, I will be there if you want me to be. If you need someone to help you take over the world, come to me. I want to be there for more than just skating. Anything. I am your biggest fan and if you need me I will be there, always. Got it.”

“Help me pick which colour tissue paper for my jewellery bags?”

“Seriously? Tissue paper?”

“You said anything.”

“Yes, I will help you pick the damn tissue paper. Can’t be that hard.”

 

Two months later, two best friends would scale the Great Wall. Smiling brightly at each other, enjoying the others company, without any expectation for more. Without any fear of screwing this and losing each other. They would dream up a comeback. If they could make fantasy a reality where would they train? What music? What would it mean? They talked about it like it was a distant dream, a future they could only wish for. But by the end, they both knew. This would be the start of a new chapter for them. A time for second chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's love got to do with it link. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ylg2zlBKIn0

**Author's Note:**

> **I am still not sure I like where I was going with my original work In The End, but if you want an idea of what could have been had T just said yes, check it out.


End file.
